The Telegram
by lovelyliza
Summary: What power does one telegram hold? The date it February 10th and Ashley Wilkes has been killed in action. In her grief and devastation will Scarlett be able to find her way to true love? Or will she be condemned to wallow in her misery forever?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I

 _"Kiss me," she whispered. "Kiss me good-by."  
His arms went around her gently, and he bent his head to her face. At the first touch of his lips on hers, her arms were about his neck in a strangling grip. For a fleeting immeasurable instant, he pressed her body close to his. Then she felt a sudden tensing of all his muscles. Swiftly, he dropped the hat to the floor and, reaching up, detached her arms from his neck.  
"No, Scarlett, no," he said in a low voice, holding her crossed wrists in a grip that hurt.  
"I love you," she said choking. "I've always loved you. I've never loved anybody else. I just married Charlie to-to try to hurt you. Oh, Ashley, I love you so much I'd walk every step of the way to Virginia just to be near you! And I'd cook for you and polish your boots and groom your horse-Ashley, say you love me! I'll live on it for the rest of my life!"  
He bent suddenly to retrieve his hat and she had one glimpse of his face. It was the unhappiest face she was ever to see, a face from which all aloofness had fled. Written on it were his love for and joy that she loved him, but battling them both were shame and despair.  
"Good-by," he said hoarsely.  
The door clicked open and a gust of cold wind swept the house, fluttering the curtains. Scarlett shivered as she watched him run down the walk to the carriage, his saber glinting in the feeble winter sunlight, the fringe of his sash dancing jauntily._

* * *

He loved her. She was sure of it now. And that was all she needed to survive, all she needed was to know that he loved her and she would be able to make it through the endless days that stretched between now and the end of the war. Surely his actions proved his affections more than his words would have, and they had lit a fire inside her that brought a new passion to the tiresome tasks of nursing and sewing circles. Her strength, worn thin by months of hard work and lacking nourishment, was revived by the knowledge that Ashley loved her and knew she still loved him.

Each day she lived with newfound vivacity. The hours she spent with the wounded and dying soldiers in the hospital had never seemed such a rewarding task. Every man who's bandages she changed or whose wounds she cleaned became, in her mind, her Ashley. Somewhere there was surely a woman who loved this man, the way she loved him, and for their benefit she nursed them to the best of her ability. She only hoped that should any harm fall upon Ashley there was as devoted a woman caring for him too.

The lack of social events didn't bother her. No one could bring themselves to hold a bazaar or dance, not when their loved ones were on the front lines fighting and dying for their Glorious Cause. Even if there had been occasion to celebrate, the war had already made so many widows there would be very few in attendance. But with Ashley so far away Scarlett couldn't imagine enjoying such festivities, it seemed almost traitorous to allow herself to be held by one man when her heart belonged to another. She passed her days sewing and mending uniforms with the other woman and talking of the latest news from the battlefield.

This change did not go unnoticed by her companions, and Melanie took it as a great credit to herself that Scarlett finally seemed to be recovering from Charles' death. It had been almost two years now, and it was good to see color return to Scarlett's face and passion return to her activities. No one ever suspected what had happened just before Ashley's departure and that it, rather than a redeemed devotion to the Cause, was the reason for Scarlett's cheerful demeanor.

If only I could feel this way forever, Scarlett thought. Content with the knowledge that her love was requited. Sure that whatever hardships lay ahead of her she would overcome them because soon Ashley would return to her. However, in war hardly anything ends the way one had hoped, and so was also the fate of her faraway love.

The telegram arrived only two months after his furlough ended and he had once again departed for the Troop. Scarlett had been at the hospital all morning, redeemed by the hope that her good work in Atlanta would ensure Ashley's protection on the frontlines. But upon her return the small Peachtree Street house she had immediately known something was wrong. There had been no sight of Aunt Pittypat or Melanie, and a grave quietness filled the rooms. She had begun to head up the stairs in search of her companions when she had spotted it, torn open, on the parlor table.

" _Regret to inform you Major Wilkes was killed in a scouting expedition on 10th February."_

And that was all it said. Two lines of text and it felt like Scarlett's world had come crumbling down around her. She had never fainted in her life but at this instance she was almost certain she would. They must be wrong, she thought. If he had died I would know, I would feel it. But as she continued to stand there in stunned silence she realized that in the pit of her heart she knew he was, that the man she had loved was gone. That she would never see the lanky figure coming home, never gaze into the grey eyes so full of wisdom, never hear his soft voice in casual conversation, and never again would he hold her in his arms.

For Scarlett, although she had already been widowed by the war, the emotions that swelled up inside her were entirely knew. The pain was worse than anything she'd ever felt, worse than when Ashley had told her he wouldn't marry her, worse than when she saw him marry Melanie, worse than when she herself married Charles. It felt as if she had been shot through the heart, instead of Ashley. And before she was able to control herself they came spilling out of her, in violent sobs and shrieks, in heavy streams of tears that ran down her face and fell onto the telegram, in racking breaths that always felt too shallow. Consumed by her grief, she was only vaguely aware of comforting hands on her back and strong arms carrying her up the staircase.

Time disappeared, and the only thing she could feel was the pain inside her. The only thing she could do was let out loud, incomprehensible sobs, cries for her lost love who lay far. The world slipped away and she was only aware of the fact that Ashley was gone, Ashley was gone and he would never come home. It wasn't until no more tears fell and her fatigued body could no longer produce noise that sleep came to claim her. But even in her dreams she was tortured by the darkness that filled a world without him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Days came and went but Scarlett remained stubbornly in her bed. Despite the combined efforts of Aunt Pittypat, Dr. Meade, and Melanie, herself a grieving widow, Scarlett refused to move. They had no luck getting her to eat or even to change out of the plain calico dress she had been wearing since the news arrived. None of them could imagine the depth of her grief, she thought. They think that I'm lamenting the loss of a childhood friend, they don't know I loved him, they don't know he loved me. Although her tears had run out days ago, she still spent all hours of the day sobbing and moaning, an ordeal that Aunt Pittypat found most anxiety inducing.

Even Melanie, who was beside herself at the news of her husband's death, managed to rise each day and put on her crepe mourning dresses. Scarlett, too consumed with herself, was oblivious to the fact that while she lay crying in her room at night Melanie was doing the same across the hall. It seemed as though Ashley's death came as a blow to all of the neighbors, for while few knew him well, they all adored his now widow and had long since heard the stories of his kindness and bravery. A somber atmosphere had fallen over Atlanta, and whether it was due to the death of Ashley or the deaths of hundreds of other soldiers, Scarlett did not know nor did she care.

In her mind, her life was over. She might as well have died along with Ashley, at least that would have been preferable to the pain she felt now. After all, how could she be expected to live without him? No, she was much better off dead. And as the days passed, these thoughts became more and more present in her mind, until the idea of death was at the front of her mind. Certainly it would be easier, and perhaps mother was right about heaven and she could see Ashley again. Oh how she wanted to see Ashley again, how she wanted to hear his cool voice say her name, feel his strong arms around her.

So while the Hamilton home grieved quietly, Scarlett quietly plotted her death. A matter which would have appalled younger self and mortified her family. Scarlett O'Hara, a pillar of strength and charm, could never even consider such unthinkable matters. But overcome with sadness that hardly matter to her, all that mattered was ending her suffering. She had of course heard stories of wealthy men who had lost their fortunes or women who had been spited by their lovers killing themselves, but that all seemed so different, so shallow. What had happened to her was far worse and surely warranted such extreme measures.

A strange transformation came over Scarlett as soon as she had resolved to end her life, and it was quite to the shock of her companions that they found her one day bathed, dressed, and waiting for them at the breakfast table. Indeed, it seemed as if Scarlett had come back to the world of the living, even going so far as to return to her hospital duties. Melanie, unaware of the reason for such a change, took note of Scarlett's bravery in the hopes of imitating it herself.

* * *

Scarlett continues through the motions of everyday life. Wake up, go to the hospital, go to sleep. She seemed even more devoted to the cause now, opting to spend entire days nursing the wounded instead of just mornings. In the evening she joined the other woman in sewing circles where she mended uniforms for the soldiers and cleaned bandages for the hospitals. It was a strict routine that left almost no time for solitude, which was exactly what Scarlett intended. She occupied every second in the hopes of distracting herself from the constant grief that tormented her. To some degree it worked, and occasionally she would find herself so absorbed in a task that she would forget that Ashley was gone. For a moment it was as if her biggest problem was the crepe mourning clothes she was still required to wear. But then she remembered, and that was the worst part. It was as if she had just received the news all over again, and the ache in her heart returned with renewed vitality.

It was on one of the rare evening when she had not completely buried herself in tasks that she received a visit from Charleston's most well known outcast. Rhett Butler, once again delivering his blockade goods to Atlanta, had heard of the tragic death of Ashley Wilkes and had come to pay his respects to his widow. He was no gentleman, and he was rarely received by any respectable family, but Mrs. Wilkes had always been kind to him. It was for her benefit, and not Scarlett's, that he had come to visit. Scarlett's schoolgirl infatuation with the late Major Wilkes was a source of great frustration for him, and had no interest in witnessing her heartbreak.

However, the ever mysterious powers that be had other intentions. It seemed that on the particular night he had planned to visit both Aunt Pittypat and Melanie were calling on their also recently widowed friends. Scarlett alone remained at the Peachtree residence. And it was in utter awe that he was received by her, she who had been so in love with the man now showed no outward signs of grief. She welcomed him in with an indifference that almost disappointed him, evidently no passionate remarks on his boorish manner would be made tonight.

After sitting for a substantial amount of time in uncomfortable silence he finally spoke up. "My dear, don't let me believe that your great love for Ashley in life has not transferred into great sorrow in death."

"You shouldn't say such things, of course I'm grieving, I just…" she drifted off, leaving Rhett curious as to how she would have finished.

"You just what? Where are your tears for your lost lover? Or perhaps that would betray your secret."

"My tears are all gone. And as for my secret, it little matters to me anymore."

Disappointed, Rhett leaned back into the parlor chair. Usually such prodding, especially mention of her secret love for Ashley, caused her to explode into a fit of rage. Where had the fiery, irish passion gone? "Well of course such things matter, how else are you to mourn your fallen sweetheart?"

"It's none of your business how I choose to mourn him. I'm tired Rhett, I think you should leave. Melanie will be home tomorrow if you wish to see her." And without so much as showing him to the door Scarlett had disappeared up the staircase and quietly closed the door to her room.

The experience had left a sour taste in his mouth. Something about the way Scarlett had acted had left him feeling completely disturbed. It was worse that the fact that she had not respond to his admittedly vulgar remarks about the recently deceased hero. Her eyes, her emerald eyes that he so often found himself lost in, her eyes that seemed to radiate with a passion for living now seemed empty. It was as if someone had blown out the candle that shone from within her. His previous thoughts of annoyance had been replaced by concern, never had he expected that the death of her infatuation would have this effect.

It was with this concern that he chose to station himself on the small wooden bench across the street rather than return to his rooms at the Atlanta Hotel. It wasn't a particularly cold night, despite it being March and he was dressed warmly enough. So he remained there until long after Aunt Pittypat and Melanie had return, until they and every other family on the street had blown out their parlor lights, until he saw the front door of house opened and Scarlett slipped unnoticed by any other into the darkness.


End file.
